


I Can't Live Here Anymore

by omfglookitsme



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky's POV, Light Angst, M/M, bucky's perspective, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omfglookitsme/pseuds/omfglookitsme
Summary: Bucky wasn't in the picture before, so perhaps it's best that he takes himself out of it.





	I Can't Live Here Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to the angst train.  
> the angst train has no brakes.
> 
> inspired by the song 'i can't live here anymore' by daughter which i basically had on repeat. if you wanna add fuel to the emo fire, listen to the song whilst reading:  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/1XvstdX9Jps4ieVQcjnX4a
> 
> there's a possibility of there being more parts, but as of now i'm not sure.

He can't discern if the ceiling feels too low or too high, or whether it's slowly sinking downward ready to crush him.

It's 2:26 a.m. 

Bucky stares up into the darkness, Steve sleeping peacefully by his side. As much as he complains about Steve's snoring, right now he wishes for it to cut through the silence that feels so heavy, his chest feeling like it's being compressed. It's all so quiet. Bucky gave up on sleeping hours ago, the bed feeling too soft as always, resigning himself to just staring blankly on one blemished spot on the ceiling. Even in the darkness with what little artificial light filters through the gap in the curtains, Bucky can tell exactly what that mark is, recalling the time he threw a knife he kept hidden under the mattress after a particularly horrifying nightmare, only narrowly missing Steve's head. 

The knife had found its way back into its designated spot under the mattress. The other knife is still in the drawer of his bedside table. The gun he keeps close is still snuggled under his pillow, ready to be pulled out and fired at any time. 

Christ, he's a mess. 

There's being cautious and then there's _this_ ; being paranoid and never once feeling at ease, suspicious of every noise and every shadow as if waiting for someone to jump out and try to kill him or take him back to HYDRA. Bucky would argue that the latter is far worse. 

Staying in one place doesn't help. After spending years on the run, moving from country to country, continent to continent, across great stretches of ocean, being in one location for too long doesn't sit well with him. Being in one spot for too long makes him feel vulnerable; like a sitting duck just waiting to be shot. Despite having a roof over his head and as consistent a lifestyle that he can have at this point, he doesn't feel safe. With all the people he's found himself surrounded with and affiliated with, he doesn't feel that _they're_ safe. 

Bucky turns his head to gaze at Steve, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the rapid movement of his eyes behind his eyelids. He briefly wonders what he's dreaming about. Gently, so as not to wake him, Bucky brushes his hands through Steve's hair, watching as a look of contentment seemed to cross his features as he snuggled deeper into his pillow. Bucky continues to stare, twirling his fingers through blond strands that look golden in the little light invading the room. Looking at him, he appears so much different than the worn soldier and leader he presents himself as. He looks younger, unguarded, and so at peace that it makes Bucky's heart ache. If anything were to happen to him, Bucky wouldn't know what to do with himself. Perhaps go on a murderous rampage before hiding in some remote location, never to be found again. 

Then again, Bucky can't help but fear that it's wholly possible that _he_ could harm Steve without even intending to. If he was having yet another nightmare or an episode, or god forbid someone from HYDRA managed to undo everything that had been done to ensure Bucky would never fall into their hands again, Bucky has the means to attack with intent to cause harm without even being aware that he was doing so. The mark in the ceiling is evidence enough, and even if it wasn't he has a fucking metal arm given to him with the intention of making him a lethal weapon. If that weren't to happen, if Bucky didn't accidentally hurt anyone here, there's a still an uncomfortably large possibility that someone else will come looking for him, and in the process harm everyone in this compound with Bucky powerless to do anything, because he _knows_ what those who are after him are capable of. 

By staying here, he's putting everyone at risk.

By staying here, he's putting Steve at risk.

And that's just it, isn't it? Despite how much he promises himself to protect Steve, to ensure no one lays a single hand on him, it will never be enough. As long as he's around, Steve's at a greater risk with each passing day. Same goes for the others; Avengers both old and new. Some of them are just _kids_ with so much more to give, so much good in them that with his staying here, Bucky is just putting that all in jeopardy. If anything were to happen...

He needs to go. 

He can't stay here.

As much as he's thankful for the hospitality and the chance to make something of himself, he can't stay. They would all be better off without him. There's too much blood on his hands and too much static in his head. With him gone it removes several threatening possibilities from their futures, and they can focus on saving the world as they have done and will continue to do. Bucky wasn't in the picture before, so perhaps it's best that he takes himself out of it. 

Slowly he inches himself off of the bed, making his way to the closet and grabbing the backpack he hasn't needed to use in so long. It already contains the essentials he would need, and thinking on it, maybe he knew deep down that this was bound to happen, that once again he'd be on the run. After everything he's done, after everything he's put everyone through, he's surprised this hasn't happen sooner. Bucky feels almost selfish for putting everyone at risk for as long as he has, and stupid that it didn't click sooner. He was never comfortable here anyway, the only reason he really stayed was Steve.

Funny how he's one of the reasons why he has to go.

Packing a few last things into his backpack, including his hidden weapons, Bucky throws on his jeans and as plain a shirt he can find, throwing on a jumper, a jacket, and gloves for good measure. Unconsciously he reaches for his phone that lays next to the lamp, but he stops himself. He knows that once Steve wakes up and realises he's gone, he will try everything to find him again, even recruit Stark to track his phone. Steve is a stubborn bastard like that. By leaving the phone, the one that holds all his precious photos and funny text messages from this new life he was given, the chances of him being found go down dramatically.

That's what he wants...right?

This lifestyle and the freedom that came with it was just a trial run, anyway. It doesn't suit him, and to be honest he should have realised that it never would. It was too close to a normal life, nothing fit, and everything just felt _wrong_. 

He keeps telling himself that, repeating it in his head like a mantra, in the hopes that it makes what he's about to do easier. 

He goes to leave, but pauses in the bedroom doorway. Looking back into the darkened room, he lets go of the side of the door and decides to go back to the bed, lightly placing his flesh hand on Steve's cheek to which the other man responds to by nestling into Bucky's palm. He tries to remember every detail of his face; the long eyelashes that rest so delicately on his cheeks, the lack of worry lines that he wears too often during his waking hours, the way his hair rests on his forehead and makes him look more boyish, taking Bucky back to before the war when things were so much simpler. Bucky wants to remember this moment, to take a second to relish in the feeling of _home_ because really, that's exactly what Steve is to him. Wherever Steve is is where home is; always has been and always will be. But again, he can't stay here. He has to be selfless. By doing this, it keeps Steve safe, and that makes it all worth it, no matter how much it hurts. 

Leaning down, Bucky places a tender kiss on Steve's forehead, letting his lips linger as his hand remains where it is on his cheek, his thumb brushing over Steve's cheek bone. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head so that his forehead rests on Steve's, biting his lip as he wills himself to go, to do what he has to. As much as he wants _this_ , as much as he wants to remain by Steve's side, this is no place for him. He can't walk around with everyone looking at him like he's a bomb about to go off. He can't stand the shouting matches he hears echo through the halls that are caused by him. He can't live in a constant state of fear that he will do something to harm those around him, or that if he doesn't someone else will as long as he's around. 

He can't be who Steve wants him to be.

Taking in a shuddering breath, he places one last kiss on Steve's forehead before leaning back and gazing at his face. Everything he wanted, everything he _needed_ was right in front of him, but it's everything he can't have. 

"I'm sorry," He whispers as his eyes begin to sting, his words getting lodged in his throat like thick mucus as they will themselves to stay, to remain unspoken. He has to force them out though, he has to do this. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay here."

Bucky has to make a conscious effort to pull himself away from Steve, to drag his trembling hand back to his side. Before he goes, his eyes catch the framed photo on Steve's bedside table. With unsteady hands he picks up the frame and cradles it in his palms. The photo was only a few months old, and it's them on the beach just after they had visited Coney Island for the first time since they were teenagers. The water looks serene and silky behind them in fantastic hues of blue, with the sun beginning its descent below the horizon, colouring the sky in shades of orange and golden yellow that seeped into the light blue sky that they were blessed with that day. Steve is beaming into the camera of his phone, clutching a stuffed toy to his chest that Bucky had won for him. Rather than looking at the camera, Bucky is looking at Steve with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he can remember the swell of love he felt in his chest at that very moment. 

Steve always said that this was his favourite photo. 

Bucky carefully removes the photo from its frame that would be too bulky for his bag, handling the photo with the utmost care as he places it into a secure pocket of his backpack. With one last look at Steve and the room that had come to be his, he walks out, closing the door behind him with a quiet _click_. With that sound came the finality, and Bucky momentarily lent his back on the door, head falling onto it with a small _thud_ as he looked to the ceiling, a few tears finally rolling down his cheeks as he let out a ragged exhale. 

It hurts, but he has to do this.

He can't stay here anymore. 

And with that thought, and the knowledge that Steve will be a lot safer, he walks away.


End file.
